


Rainbow

by gigi_originally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Peter Pan is a Little Shit, as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wendy fights with a vending machine and receives assistance from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr drabble prompt that exploded.
> 
> For [Tami](http://gardenoftacos.tumblr.com/), because she mentioned this concept yesterday and for [Yazzy](http://yazerbaijan.tumblr.com/), because she needs the distraction.

”Oh for fuck’s sake!” Wendy muttered harshly under her breath. 

She smacked her hand roughly against the side of the vending machine that refused to relinquish her purchase. Staring blandly back at her was the little red bag of fruity treats dangling just at the edge of its row, the last of its kind, rightfully hers by purchase yet still so unattainable. 

Wendy really, really hated vending machines.  

But the school shop was out of Skittles and she had had a craving for them all day. This was the next closest option. She sighed loudly and muttered yet another curse under her breath as it became clear that she had wasted her money chasing the rainbow.  

"Now, now, Bird; what would your father say to that language?" 

Wendy dropped her head at the familiar voice. She was already irritated, she didn’t need Peter Pan adding to her woes. 

"Go  _away_ , Pan,” she grumbled. To distract herself until he went away, she busied herself with her purse but, of course, Peter Pan never did what anyone wanted him to, least of all Wendy Darling. 

What had she ever done to him to deserve this? 

She could feel the warmth radiating off him as he stepped closer to her, could smell his cologne. What right did he have to smell so nice yet behave so utterly foul? She tensed as his arm came up beside her — he had pushed her around when they were children though he’d stopped touching her altogether somewhere between the ages of 12 and 13.  

Suddenly, his hand fisted and he banged hard on the machine. Her packet dislodged itself easily and fell heavily downward. Wendy huffed, torn between gratitude and annoyance. She didn’t want Peter Pan’s help. She didn’t  _need_  Peter Pan’s help. She hadn’t  _asked_  for Peter Pan’s help. 

She knew better; everything he did came with a price. 

When she made no move to collect her purchase, she could almost hear him roll his eyes beside her. She refused to consider why she was so in tune with him, why she knew his reactions as intimately as her own. If ever her mind wandered in that direction, she ascribed it to having been in the same class for a decade. His chuckle was quieter than she expected and tinged with a hint of bitterness she hadn’t expected at all.  

Something inside her twisted at the sound, because he’d done a nice thing for her and she had spurned him. She knew he had it rough with people. Most of their teachers openly disliked him and, apart from Felix and his boys (who were less like friends and more like minions), she knew he had no friends. In fact, the only person Wendy had ever seen him actively attempt to engage with was herself.  

(She never, ever, ever let herself wonder about why that was. …At least, not often and  _never_  in his presence.) 

Then, suddenly, his hand was heavy on the curve of her waist as he knelt beside her to reach into the machine. She held herself completely still as her used her for balance and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the heat of his hand through her uniform. When he stood back up, he left his hand where it was.  

Wendy glanced around quickly. The little shop they were in was empty save for an elderly woman she didn’t recognize and the distracted cashier playing Sudoku behind the register.  

She jumped when Peter put his mouth to her ear and asked in a voice she had come to hate simply because it haunted her dreams: “What do I get as a thank you?” 

At that she whirled around, effectively disengaging from him. She argued, “I never asked for your help, Peter.” 

He smirked at her, one wicked eyebrow raising and causing her to flush for no apparent reason. He tossed her Skittles lightly into the air. She watched him catch it, his crooked index finger making her wonder, not for the first time, if he had broken it when he was younger. He laughed again, still a little harsh, still a little bitter, but evidently amused by her pluck. 

"There’s that fire," he murmured and she looked at him sharply. He made comments like that on occasion: soft, almost absent-minded ‘observations’ about her and she could never tell (didn’t want to acknowledge) what his tone really meant. Then he grinned and turned on his heel. 

She took off after him immediately. Those were her Skittles and she would not be robbed. 

"Give those back!" she said as they cleared the exit. She curled her fingers into the blue material of his blazer and tugged hard. He stopped and turned back to her, dangling the still unopened packet in front of her. 

"Like I asked, what do I get in return, Bird?" 

Wendy huffed out a breath and snatched at the candy. Peter let her take it but continued to wait for his payment. Hand fisting tight around the treat, she acquiesced, “You get a thank you. So thank you for your help, Peter.” 

She made to leave but he fell into step right beside her. He said, “You’re welcome, Wendy, but you’ve got a whole pack of Skittles there. Aren’t you going to share?” 

A glance at him out of the corner of her eye showed her the boy she had come to know almost too well, all charm and confidence. He walked like he owned the world, like everyone everywhere owed him deference. She wondered where he got it from, wondered why it looked so good on him. And it did look good on him. He was comfortable in his skin, wore his uniform like a model and gave no shits about who he pissed off. He pulled off the bad boy thing without even trying. It was probably unfair. 

Wendy tried very hard not to think about why it was unfair to her. 

She was not —  _oh fuck it_ , she  _did_ fancy him. She fancied the pants off him and had for a long time. He irritated her to no end but apparently she wasn’t as smart as everyone claimed. Peter Pan made time for no girl. Her attentions (sparse as she kept them) were utterly wasted on him. 

They walked in silence, Peter easily following her lead and she let him. Finally, she turned off into the park and down an old, beaten path. It was one of many routes to their old playground. They had met on the swings there before realizing they were to go to the same school. Wendy still remembered it vividly. 

After a round of dragon hunting, Peter had let her choose the next game and they had played house. It had gone smoothly enough until she had kissed him. Then he’d shoved her in the dirt and run off. They had been seven. Now, seventeen year old Wendy shook her head with a smile at the memory as she settled on a swing.  

This part of the park was old and their playground was mostly forgotten now. A newer, safer, bigger playground had been added out by the lake. Parents didn’t bring their children to this one anymore and, maybe it was just Wendy being hipster but, kids didn’t seem to explore the park as much as they had when she was little. In recent months, she’d been using the place as a sanctuary of sorts from her parents’ constant questions about her plans for university. 

"What?" Peter asked as he leaned against the slide beside her swing. She glanced over and rolled her eyes at him. He’d loosened his tie and undone the top buttons on his collar and looked like something from a magazine shoot. She probably looked like child with a bird’s nest of hair. She looked down at her black flats and replied quietly, "Just remembering." 

"That you own me Skittles?" 

She almost laughed. Instead, when she raised her face to look at him, her smile was genuine. “You followed me all this way for Skittles?” 

He shrugged. “I hear there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” 

Her hand came up to cover her eyes as she half-cringed, half-laughed. “That’s not even—” she paused to actually laugh. Then she conceded, “Fine. I’ll share.” 

Peter winked at her and buried his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the trees around them as she opened their snack. She popped a few in her mouth then held out the packet toward him. When he didn’t notice her, she called around her mouthful of rainbow, “Hey. Did you want these or not?” 

He looked over at her and his expression was oddly solemn.  

"Sure," he said and pushed off his lean. His long stride ate up the space between them and suddenly he was standing in front of her swing with both hands on the chains.

Wendy looked up at him warily, the proximity setting her on edge yet again. In an effort to break the odd tension that had settled around them, she held up the Skittles again with her hand as she popped two more in her mouth with the other. 

Peter moved one hand off the chain above her head but, instead of reaching for the offered candy, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Wendy blinked. 

_What?_  

Peter’s fingers trailed over the apple of her cheek then down to her jaw. He turned his hand and cupped the side of her face then spread his fingers into hair and tilted her head backward. Wendy knew, theoretically, what would happen as he bent forward but part of her simply refused to believe that it was happening.  

Peter Pan didn’t kiss girls. Peter Pan didn’t kiss  _her_.  

But then Peter Pan was kissing her. 

His lips were slightly chapped but warm and soft against her own. He moved slowly, almost as though he didn’t want to startle her, and pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth then the other. He kissed the space above her upper lip then he pulled back and let her see him. His eyes were wide and open and vulnerable. He looked like the little boy she’d kissed ten years ago in nearly this very same spot. 

"What—?" she began but then quickly changed her mind. She licked her lips and tried again. "Peter, why?" 

He kept his voice low and his face close enough for her to feel his breath on her lips as he said, “Because.” 

Then he kissed her again, his lips firmer this time, his kiss more sure. He nipped at her lips until she shuddered out a sigh. As she softened to him, his other hand came down to rest against the side of her neck and his tongue licked experimentally at the seam of her lips. 

Dear God in Heaven, she opened for him. 

Wendy suddenly didn’t care about the why. All she knew was that Peter’s tongue was in her mouth, doing things she’d only ever read about because boys didn’t ever try to snog her. She did her best to meet him halfway, inexperienced as she was, and his groan when she slid her tongue against his was like triumph. She curled her fingers around his collar as they continued. 

When finally Peter pulled away, she was panting and flushed and thoroughly kissed. 

"Been meaning to do that for years," he murmured as he straightened. 

"What?" she asked, still blinking and reeling from the shock. 

He grinned slyly down at her: ”Taste the rainbow.” 

She kicked him in the shin. 


End file.
